I had intended to go after Gunderson first, but soon realised that I didn't know which room was his. Paul slept in the room opposite Kurtis', so I avoided that for the time being, but then it was a matter of guesswork. I would have to move – and kill – in absolute silence if I wanted to get out alive.
At the next room along, I stopped and tried the door in painstaking slow motion. Dark stillness awaited inside as I edged into the room, knife held out horizontally in my fist. Pushing away all thoughts of what had just occurred between Kurtis and myself, I padded over to the bed on my left. The dark, faintly snoring shape under the covers turned out to be Vadim. I stood over him for a moment, recalling the triumphant look on his fat features as he had groped me in the warehouse, and then without further hesitation I clamped one hand over his mouth and slit his throat with the other. His body twitched for no more than a couple of seconds, after which I removed my hand from his face and wiped the bloody knife on his sheets. It seemed I hadn't lost my ability to kill in cold blood after all.
Back in the corridor, I waited until my heart had slowed to its normal rate before continuing to the next door. Once again, it opened without hindrance, and I was surprised at how confident Gunderson's men were to leave their doors unlocked. I was even starting to convince myself that this escape was going to be easy, when I realised my first mistake. The room I was standing in was the study where Gunderson had set up office, and not a bedroom at all. I cursed myself silently for the foolish error, which had cost me vital time. As I stood with my back to the open door, a tiny sound in the corridor caused me to freeze where I stood, heart pulsing fast again as I listened for movement. And that was when my plan completely fell apart.
Orange light tore through the darkness, burning bright blue patches onto my retinas as my eyes struggled to adjust. I heard the sound of blades slicing through the air dangerously close by, and a split second later felt that same sharpness connect with the flesh of my upper arm. I let out a cry of pain and disbelief, and whirled to face the figure silhouetted in the doorway, grabbing his gun from my waistband and raising it towards him.
Shit, I thought, blood pumping in my ears. He's more resilient than I thought.
"What the hell are you thinking?" he asked, prowling slowly towards me. The weapon danced in the air beside my head, spitting flame like a Catherine wheel.
"Keep away from me," I warned, readying myself for action. I had no chance now of escaping through stealth, so my remaining options were to fight or surrender.
"Lara," he said, his voice low yet urgent. "Don't do this." I could see him more clearly now. He had pulled on his combats but his chest and feet were still bare, and on the right side of his face a trickle of fresh blood ran from hairline to jaw. He seemed angry but also anxious.
"Don't try to stop me." I levelled the gun at the spot dead between his eyes. "I'll kill you if I have to."
But my time had already run out. My shout of pain had ruptured the silence in the suite, and I was suddenly aware of heavy footsteps in the corridor. A heartbeat later the room was flooded with electric light. Blinded and disoriented, I kept the gun held out before me in defence, ready to shoot anyone that came close. But before I could even fully register the figure approaching, Gunderson's giant fist slammed into my stomach like a wrecking ball, knocking every scrap of breath from my lungs. I was thrown backwards into the wall by the agonising force of the blow, and slumped painfully to the floor. I drew my knees up reflexively and huddled there, coughing and fighting for air, my solar plexus screaming with pain. Gunderson's huge frame dominated the room, and beside him stood the smaller, narrower figure of Paul. I couldn't see Kurtis. More footsteps thudded down the hall, and a moment later a third figure entered the room.
"She killed Vadim," a rasping, thick-accented voice above me said. Gunderson growled an order, and through blurred, stinging eyes I saw boots approaching. Two pairs of rough hands grabbed me by the arms and wrenched me to my feet like a rag doll. Paul and the Russian dragged me between them towards Gunderson, who snatched my face in that huge hand and pushed it back so that I was squinting up into his eyes and the glare of the lights overhead. I waited for him to deliver another punch, or simply turn his wrist and snap my neck, but he just stared down at me.
"I would gladly kill you right now," he told me through gritted teeth. I didn't doubt it for a second. "But as you already know, you are needed alive. Well… so be it. I can still make you suffer."
He released my head and muttered an order in Russian. The two men pulled me over to the desk and shoved me down into the same chair I had occupied on the day I first arrived here. Gunderson stalked around to the other side of the desk and opened one of the drawers. He took out a mobile phone and quickly keyed in a number. As he spoke briskly into the handset, he gestured to the other men in the room with his free hand. The Russian lifted his gun to my temple while Paul obediently went to the desk and opened up the laptop. As I realised what was about to come, my heart stopped dead in my chest. Gunderson had been showing me footage of Daniel and Winston on this same machine every day since I arrived; the proof of life I had demanded in return for my compliance. Terrified of what was about to come, I shot to my feet, disregarding the gun pointed at my head.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, voice shaking with alarm.
"Hold her still," Gunderson commanded, breaking briefly from his telephone conversation. I felt Kurtis' hands close around my upper arms, pulling me down into the seat and pinning me there. I squirmed against his grip as I watched Paul open the video link. He positioned the computer where all of us in the room could see it, and then stood back, arms folded. After a moment a gloomy room showed on the screen, lit by a single bare bulb. The hostages were no longer at Croft Manor; they had been moved shortly after I arrived on the ship. I had no idea where this dingy cellar was, but I knew that the sight of it would be forever burned into my memory.
Gunderson continued speaking into the phone, and I felt the hands around my arms stiffen.
"Wait," Kurtis said from behind me. He sounded uneasy. "This isn't necessary."
"Keep out of this, Trent," Gunderson warned, still facing away with the handset held to his ear.
"I'll watch her myself from now on," Kurtis went on, trying to sound reasonable. "Sir, we don't want to leave this kind of a mess behind us-"
Gunderson turned now, his face livid. "Unless you would like the same done to you, I suggest you keep out of it!" he bellowed. He said a few final words before snapping the phone closed and placing it back on the desk.
There was movement on the screen as a black-clad figure, his face covered by a balaclava, dragged another man out of the shadows and into the garish light in the middle of the room. It was Daniel. He was shoved into a folding chair beside a small table, and held in place just as I was being held here by Kurtis. Another figure, dressed like the first, walked into shot from behind the camera, and as he approached the table Daniel's face contorted in fear. A moment later I realised why, as the man turned to the camera and held up the item in his hand for us all to see. It was a machete.
"No!" I cried out, the panic sharp in my voice. "Please, no, don't do this!" I strained against Kurtis' grip on my upper arms, desperate pleas tumbling from my lips, my eyes clouding once again with tears of dread. "Please, Gunderson, please, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't make them do this to him! He hasn't done anything wrong, it was my fault, punish me! Don't hurt him!" In response, Gunderson reached forward and turned up the sound on the speakers so that Daniel's own voice could be heard, his frantic pleading growing louder and louder as Gunderson twisted the volume dial to its maximum setting.
The man on screen wrestled Daniel's arm onto the table and held it there by the wrist with one of his gloved hands. With the other, he swung the machete up above his shoulder and brought it down swiftly onto Daniel's exposed forearm, eliciting a strangled scream. I shook with horror as his assailant wrenched the machete free with obvious effort. It had failed to cut cleanly through the arm, lodging instead against the bone. He struck twice more with similar effect as blood pooled on the table, spreading fast across its surface and spilling onto the floor.
I squeezed my eyes tightly closed as the final blow landed, severing Daniel's hand and wrist completely. He was no longer screaming, but was whimpering in pain and delirium, a sound even more devastating than his earlier cries. The fingers on his amputated hand gave one final twitch before lying lifeless in the spilt blood.
Without my being aware of it, at some point during the torture I had stopped begging Gunderson and had instead begun to curse him. My voice was no more than a hoarse whisper now, choked with rage and hatred, but the words continued to spill from me. "You evil son of a bitch, I'll kill you for this, I swear to God I'll fucking kill you for this," I heard myself say from somewhere that seemed very distant.
As Gunderson walked around the desk towards me, Kurtis finally let go of my arms. My fingers were beginning to prickle with pins and needles from the lack of circulation. A hand on my shoulder signalled that I should get to my feet, but as soon as I did, Gunderson grasped me by the throat and lowered his face closer to mine. His eyes were like chips of granite, hard and heartless and cold.
"Don't make the mistake of thinking we are even, Croft," he said. "You took one of my men, and yet I spared yours. I should have taken his head. Make a single move without my permission, and I will." He released me with a shove, and I toppled to the ground. He had the strength of a bull, and a temperament to match.
"Get her out of here," Gunderson barked at Kurtis, who reached down and slid an arm under my shoulders before hauling me to my feet. He half-carried me out of the study and along the corridor to my bedroom, which I had hoped never to see again. Once inside, he flicked on the lights and turned to face me.
"I have to clean that wound," he said, gesturing to my upper arm. I glanced down at it, faintly registering surprise at how much it had bled. The whole length of my arm was red-brown with sticky gore, with rivulets reaching down as far as my knuckles. The gash was deep, but I hadn't even noticed the pain or bleeding through all the other horrors.
"Just leave me alone," I replied feebly, leaning against the wall. I really didn't care if I bled to death at that moment. But I was too weak to fight, and Kurtis steered me towards the bathroom and made me sit on the edge of the bathtub while he wet a towel in warm water.
I sat in dazed silence as he washed the congealing blood from my arm and dabbed at the wound. I could tell from the bright scarlet stains on the towel that it was still bleeding. Kurtis got up and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As the numbness abated I became aware that my entire abdomen was still throbbing awfully from where Gunderson had punched me. My head spun sickeningly. An image of the machete hacking into Daniel's arm floated up in my mind, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea. I staggered to the toilet and fell against it, retching into the bowl, my body spasming as though crushed in an invisible fist. The pain was unbearable.
Kurtis returned a minute later with bandages and a tube of antiseptic cream. He found me slumped on the floor by the toilet, my head sagging against the bowl, fighting back another wave of sickness. He reached over and flushed the toilet, then crouched down and moved me until I was sitting with my back supported by the wall. I sat there with my face slack and expressionless and he tended to my injury, and didn't even wince when he smeared ointment onto the raw flesh or wound the bandage tightly around my arm. As he knelt in front of me, I noticed a series of parallel red marks on his naked chest, left by my fingernails earlier that night. How distant and impossible that now seemed. Was this night even real? I closed my eyes and shook my head slowly, willing the world to be different when I opened them again.
Kurtis went over to the washbasin and poured cold water into a glass tumbler from the shelf. He crouched down again and handed me the glass, insisting that I drink. The cool liquid helped to soothe my burning throat and wash away the bitterness, which was a small comfort. I put the empty glass down on the floor beside me and let my head hang down, heavy with exhaustion. Still, I could feel Kurtis watching me.
"God Lara, what were you thinking?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "You can't just walk out of here. Don't you realise who these people are?"
I slowly rolled my eyes upward to meet his, gazing at him in weary disbelief. "These people?" I repeated, my cracked voice barely a whisper. "You're these people, Kurtis. You've done this to me. To him."
He had no reply for this, and after a moment he got up and left me alone again. A little while later I managed to drag myself out of the bathroom and into bed, and as I lay there staring into the dark I wondered if I could ever be forgiven for the mistakes I had made tonight.
A/N: Well, after a nice, sexy chapter, you have to have a mean, nasty chapter. ;) And I had to do something for the Daniel-haters out there! But spare a thought for poor Lara. She's fond of him, for some reason. Huge thanks once again to everyone who has continued to read and review, I love you all! Nothing cheers me up like a nice review landing in my mailbox.